Strangers

by C. L. Taylor

  Chapter 47

  Alice

  Alice has given up trying to hide the fact that she’s using her phone. Since Lynne came into the stockroom earlier she’s had Kaisha and Lauren both wander in too. Kaisha wanted to ask about holiday entitlement and Lauren had a query about a skirt a customer had seen online. Even Larry the security guard popped in to tell her that the area manager had arrived – he was ‘in the area and wanted a chat’ apparently – and he’d shown him to her office.

  Since lunch Alice has received three texts: one from Emily telling her that Helen opposite has agreed to let her camp out in her front bedroom for the evening and she’s looking forward to playing detective while enjoying a nice bottle of wine, and two texts from Simon. One saying he’d meet her at the shop at closing time, the other saying he’d reinstated his Twitter account. She checked it immediately and found his most recent tweet pinned at the top:

  Looking forward to a lovely night in at my girlfriend’s house. And if anyone thinks I’m doing anything else THEY’RE NOT LISTENING.

  The last part of the tweet took Alice aback. It was Emily’s idea, to get a reaction out of the stalker. Hardly subtle. But subtle wasn’t the point. The point was to drive Simon’s stalker out of the darkness and she was pretty sure the tweet was going to do just that.

  It had certainly garnered some attention. There were already tons of replies – most of them expressing relief that he was still alive or tweeting they were glad he was back, a good half-dozen asking who his girlfriend was and one or two telling him not to shout. Alice went through every profile and took a screenshot. She was pretty sure Simon’s stalker wouldn’t bother to comment publicly, but actually doing something rather than speculating wildly helped dampen her nerves.

  It’s been five minutes since Larry popped in but if their area manager, James Malone, is going to turn up so late in the day and couldn’t be bothered to give her advance notice then he can bloody well wait. He’ll probably tell her it’s a ‘courtesy call’ when what he’s actually doing is turning up unannounced to try and catch her out. Well, her store’s running like clockwork – almost all of the new stock is out, the shop floor is tidy, profits are up and staff absences are down. With any luck Lynne will have made him a coffee. She might deny it, but Alice knows she’s always had a crush on the man.

  She looks at her watch. Simon’s due any minute. There’s only a couple of minutes until the shutters need to come down at the front of the shop and she still needs to check the store’s empty and the cashing up’s been done. As Alice leaves the storeroom and steps out onto the shop floor she frowns. There’s no sign of Lynne. Probably in her office, batting her eyelashes at James Malone and hanging onto his every word.

  ‘Is it all right if I go?’ Kaisha steps out from behind the counter. ‘Lauren’s already gone and it’s my mum’s birthday today and I told my sister I’d be round at hers straight after work.’

  ‘Course.’ Alice waves a hand towards the back of the store. ‘Go out the back entrance, would you, though? I’m about to close up.’

  ‘No worries.’ Kaisha flashes her a smile and scurries off as Alice heads over to Larry, who’s standing by the glass doors with his hands clasped behind his back.

  ‘You can get off too.’

  ‘You sure?’ He glances up at the metal shutters. They’ve been lowered to the top of the door to dissuade any stragglers from popping in.

  ‘Yeah. Course. See you tomorrow.’

  She remains by the door as Larry shuffles off towards the back of the shop. She scans the foyer outside for Simon. He’s really cutting it fine and her area manager is still waiting patiently for her to join him in the back office. She reaches into her pocket to check her phone just in case Simon’s sent a last minute text but her mobile’s not there. She must have left it in the back room. Sighing, she casts an eye over the shop. Lynne’s obviously been through all the racks because everything looks neat and tidy, although that bloody broken rail is still hanging on for its life. She’d have chucked it weeks ago but head office still haven’t sent her a replacement. Actually, that’s something she’s going to have a word with James Malone about. He’d be the first one to point a finger if it injured a customer so he can bloody well get on the case.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Alice nearly jumps out of her skin as someone taps her on the shoulder.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ She stares up at the hefty woman in a sweat-stained top standing beside her. Where the hell did she come from?

  ‘I was sitting over there, waiting for you,’ the woman says, as though reading her mind. She points across the store to where the shoe racks and padded poufs are hidden behind racks of clothes. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

  Alice takes a step back. There’s something about the intense look in the woman’s eyes that’s unsettling. She’s staring at her as though—

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. It’s you.’ She runs a hand through her hair as she places the woman’s face. It’s the shoplifter who was staring at her in the cinema. What the hell was Larry thinking, letting her in?

  ‘Right, I know why you’re here.’ Alice stalks over to the sales counter, ducks down, then pulls a large bag from underneath it. She thrusts it at the woman. ‘There’s your coat. You can go now.’

  The woman frowns as she looks into the bag and pulls out the contents. ‘Thanks, but that’s … that’s not why—’

  The sound of trainers squealing on tiles makes Alice look towards the foyer. But it’s not Simon that comes hightailing it round the corner. It’s a short man with a goatee beard and a blonde woman in a beautician’s uniform.

  ‘Don’t shut the shop!’ the man shouts as they draw closer. ‘Gareth Filer, security. You need to let us in.’

  ‘Woah!’ Alice reaches the door before he does and holds up a hand. He doesn’t look like a security guard in his white trainers, blue jeans and navy jumper but there’s something familiar about him that makes her pause.

  ‘My daughter!’ the beautician says, slapping a hand against the glass wall of the shop as she gasps for breath. ‘Is she in there?’

  ‘There’s no one else here,’ says a voice from behind her. ‘I’m the only customer left.’

  Alice glares at the shoplifter, pulling on her coat. She’s going to have words with Larry tomorrow. It’s his job to check there there’s no one left in the shop before he closes the shutters. Retirement or no retirement, she’s seriously considering letting him go. ‘You all need to leave. I’m locking up.’

  And I really need to go and talk to James Malone, she thinks.

  ‘Please.’ The woman in the beautician’s outfit pushes at the door, angling to get in. ‘She’s missing. Please. Let me just look.’

  The man adds his weight to the door, forcing Alice to let go of the handle. ‘I checked the CCTV. She definitely went into your shop. And she hasn’t come out.’

  ‘Fine.’ Alice locks the double doors, then slaps at the shutter button on the wall. It creaks back into action and slowly begins to slide down over the glass. ‘Come in. But you’re going to have to leave via the back entrance.’

  She’s so flustered as the couple push their way in that she doesn’t notice Simon strolling along the foyer with his hands in his pockets until he’s almost right up against the glass. She makes frantic hand movements for him to hurry then unlocks the doors and ushers him in. As she locks the doors for the second time, the shoplifter comes rushing over and clutches Simon’s arm.

  ‘Oh my God! It’s you.’

  Simon pales and takes a step away from her, but she continues to hang onto his arm. Height-wise there’s not much between them and she’s staring straight at him, her eyes roaming his face.

  ‘Simon?’ Alice says, but he doesn’t reply. He’s staring at the woman as though he’s about to be sick.

  It’s his stalker, it has to be. She’s the one who’s been sending Alice all the Facebook messages, who scratched You’re Not Listening along the side of her car. She jolts as som
eone touches her on the shoulder. It’s Gareth, the security guard with the goatee.

  ‘Not now.’ She tries to pull away but he sidesteps her so he’s right in her face.

  ‘Please. It’s important. I need you to check the female changing rooms. A thirteen-year-old girl has gone missing and we’re pretty certain she’s hiding in your shop.’

  ‘There’s no one else here. The changing rooms will have been checked.’ Behind him, the shoplifter has let go of Simon’s arm and is rummaging around in her bag. He doesn’t look as though he’s about to be sick any more but there’s confusion on his face.

  ‘Georgia!’ The shout fills the store. The beautician’s given up waiting. She’s hurrying in and out of the racks of clothes, screaming at the top of her voice.

  ‘Alice.’ The security guard glances at her name badge. ‘Please. The changing rooms. We need to check them now.’

  ‘Simon?’ Alice says. ‘Is it her? Is it the stalker?’

  As the tall woman gawps at her, Simon shakes his head sharply. ‘No,’ he says. ‘But she knows—’

  ‘The changing rooms,’ Gareth interrupts and the bubble of irritation that’s been building in Alice’s chest finally bursts.

  ‘Fine,’ she snaps. She just wants him to stop talking and go away. ‘Changing rooms. Come on.’

  As she stalks across the shop floor, the security guard hurries along beside her, muttering something about his mum and someone called Georgia. Alice lets the words wash over her. The sooner she shows him that there’s no one in the changing rooms, the sooner she can get back to Simon and the shoplifter and find out what the hell is going on.

  She sighs loudly as they reach the cubicles. Rejected clothes are still on the railing and none of the curtains have been pulled back and checked. No wonder Kaisha shot off as fast as she did. She knew Alice would get her to sort out this mess.

  ‘Right.’ Alice pulls back the first curtain to reveal a small cubicle containing a mirror and a dress hanging up on a hook. She takes the dress and loops it over her arm. Something else she’s going to have to put away before she can leave. She glances at Gareth, who’s moving down the row of cubicles, crouching to peer under the curtains.

  ‘No one here.’ Alice pulls back the next curtain. ‘No one here. No one here. No one—’

  She lets out a gasp of surprise. Sitting in the corner of the cubicle, dressed in school uniform, her arms wrapped around her knees, is a short, blonde teenage girl.

  Chapter 48

  Gareth

  Gareth takes one look at Georgia’s tear-stained face and his heart leaps.

  ‘Kath!’ He shouts. ‘Kath! Kath, she’s here.’

  For several seconds no one says a word, not him, not Georgia curled up on the floor and not Alice standing beside him with dresses hooked over her arm. Then Kath arrives, wide-eyed and breathless and starts shouting at her daughter.

  ‘Stop!’ Gareth yells through the crying, berating, apologising and confusion. ‘Everyone please just stop.’

  There’s a lull in the noise, then Kath says, ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Georgia? You scared me half to death,’ and it all starts up again.

  ‘Kath, please.’ Gareth puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘Please, this is important. Please just let her explain.’

  He crouches down and looks at Georgia, still gripping her knees. ‘You’re not in trouble, but I need your help. We need to find Joan, my mum, and I think you know where she is.’

  Georgia lets out a loud sob and buries her face in her arms.

  ‘We know why you’re here …’ he glances up at Kath, who’s got her hands pressed to her cheeks. ‘Amy told us, your friend. She said some girls from school have been bullying you and they told you that if you stole stuff for them it would stop.’

  Georgia shakes her head.

  ‘You didn’t want to,’ Gareth says softly. ‘Did you?’

  Georgia doesn’t move.

  ‘You should have told me,’ Kath says and her daughter lets out a loud sob. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about it, love?’

  There’s a soft murmuring from between Georgia’s arms.

  ‘What’s that?’ Kath crouches down beside Gareth. ‘What’s that, love?’

  ‘You were always busy.’ Georgia lifts her chin but keeps her eyes covered. ‘You told me off if I wanted to talk and you had a client in.’

  ‘That’s not—’ Kath starts, but Gareth silences her with a finger to his lips.

  ‘Did you come round to ours instead?’ he asks.

  Georgia doesn’t reply.

  ‘Did Joan wave at you from the window, maybe? When you got home from school? Or talk to you in the back garden? Did she invite you in for a cup of tea and you climbed over the fence?’

  Another loud sob escapes the young girl’s folded arms.

  ‘Did she show you her memory box? Did you see the postcards from my dad?’

  There’s a further sob, then an anguished cry that sounds like, ‘I was only trying to help.’

  Gareth doesn’t speak. He continues to crouch, his thigh muscles burning as he waits for her to say more. If he pushes her too hard she’ll clam up. If he gives her space she might talk. She’s the missing piece in the puzzle of his mum’s disappearance. He can’t believe it took him so long to figure it out.

  ‘She was so kind to me.’ Georgia’s voice is a whisper; any louder and it would break. ‘I wanted to do something nice.’

  ‘You sent her a postcard. You copied my dad’s handwriting.’

  ‘She missed him. I thought it would make her happy.’

  ‘And you talked about going on holiday?’

  ‘She wanted to go to the seaside. I knew she couldn’t, not in real life, and she’d forget all about it the next time I saw her, but she was so excited. She called me Ruth and I didn’t know who that was. I thought … I thought … it was just make-believe.’

  ‘It’s okay, Georgia,’ Kath says softly. ‘It’s all right, love.’

  ‘Do you know where she’s gone?’ Gareth asks.

  The question hangs in the air. He’s holding himself so still he can’t breathe.

  The silence is punctuated by a sob, then seven words that make his heart sink: ‘I wish I did but I don’t.’

  Chapter 49

  Ursula

  It’s so strange, staring into the face of a man she first saw printed on a tiny scrap of newspaper, but it’s definitely him, the man standing next to her. Simon Hamilton is the man plastered all over Edward’s bedroom wall.

  ‘A shrine?’ Simon says, his grey eyes searching hers.

  ‘Well.’ Ursula shrugs uncomfortably. ‘That’s one word for it.’

  She’s not sure how to describe what she saw when she walked into Edward’s room but ‘shrine’ is too innocuous. One wall was plastered with photos of Simon – newspaper clippings, computer printouts. There were other things too, handwritten notes saying ‘smug bastard,’ ‘pride comes before a fall’ and ‘he who laughs last laughs longest’, maps, red wool, coloured tacks, photos of BBC Radio Bristol and a couple of printouts of houses and streets. There were printouts from Facebook too, with faces circled.

  After Paul made his escape, Ursula moved to the window and watched as he jumped into his car and pulled away. She needed to call the police, warn them that Paul Wilson was a domestic abuser who was hunting for his wife and child, but he’d taken her mobile with him and there was no landline in the house. She’d have to find a payphone. She looked back at Edward’s wall. It was like something from a serial killer film with all the photos and the threats and maps and the wool. Who was this man that he was so obsessed with? She cast a glance back towards the hallway, torn between leaving to call the police and staying to find out more. An email, pinned to the wall, caught her eye. Several sentences were picked out in neon yellow highlighter pen:

  Please stop contacting me.

  Some people have better things to do with their time.

  Don’t be a troll all your life.
<
br />   The email was signed Simon Hamilton, Presenter, BBC Radio Bristol, but it was written to someone called Ann Friend. Edward hadn’t told her not to change the channel on the kitchen radio because he was trying to mask the sound of his pets; he was waiting for Simon Hamilton to start broadcasting again.

  It wasn’t until Ursula turned to leave that she spotted another set of photos. Pinned up on the right hand of the door were printouts of a woman. In one she was sitting at a table in a cafe with Simon. In another she was walking down a road alone. Then there was one, quite close up, of the same woman in an outfit that Ursula recognised: it was the bright pink blouse the staff wore at Mirage Fashions with ‘Alice’ picked out in black on a white badge. She was gazing above the line of the camera, at the person who’d secretly taken her photo, her brow creased into a frown. Underneath, Ed had written: Who’s laughing now?

  ‘Shit,’ Simon says, his hands shaking as Ursula hands him the photo of Alice. He glances towards the back of the shop where the sound of crying and raised voices has dropped to a low murmur. ‘Does she know?’

  Ursula shakes her head. ‘I drove here to warn her but I couldn’t see her anywhere. I heard one of the other women telling a customer she was out the back so I thought I’d wait.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just call the police?’

  ‘I did. I called them from a phone box and told them after … after I spoke to them about something else. They said they’d send someone round but I couldn’t stay there, not in that house. What if Ed had turned up?’

  Simon exhales noisily through his nose. ‘This has gone on long enough. We need to go to the police station – you, me and Alice. We need to show them all this … all this stuff … and tell them everything.’

  ‘Tell the police what?’ Alice asks as she walks towards them.

  Simon shoves the printout into his pocket. ‘Ursula here has discovered who my stalker is.’

  Alice gawps at him, then at Ursula.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asks.